


Free in the Shackles of Sin

by Sincestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, PWP, Past Underage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, mentions of weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincestiel/pseuds/Sincestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows they're supposed to forget about it.  Should have a long time ago.  It was only experimentation.  It didn't mean a thing.</p><p>Dean can't forget and Sam doesn't want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free in the Shackles of Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a John MacArthur quote. Because why not bastardize a religious quote? Absolutely no time frame on this. Throw it in anywhere between Season 1 and now. It's entirely up to you.

It's twisted and wrong and so fucked up that Sam feels sick sometimes just thinking about it. But, at the same time, it makes him so fucking hard that he can't even see straight. And he knows they're supposed to forget about it. Should have a long time ago, because Dean makes it clear every time he shifts away from Sam's touch that it's over. Wasn't anything but experimentation. Didn't mean a thing.

Except sometimes Dean doesn't shift away. Sometimes he leans in, almost begging for Sam's touch. And Sam can't deny him. Can't deny, even to himself, how Dean makes him feel. How his skin feels too tight for his body. How he starts to sweat, heat pooling in his gut at the heat of Dean's hand on his shoulder.

He remembers then. Remembers the way Dean's mouth felt on his. The way Dean's hands felt when they slipped into his pajamas. God. Fuck. The weight of Dean's cock in his palm, on his tongue. And they'd been younger then (too fucking young) so Sam knows it would be heavier now. Thicker. He'd be able to smell Dean, manly and musky and so much different than he'd been back then. And he wants. Even if he'd not supposed to, he still does.

He's wanted so much and for so long it makes him ache. And he's felt off kilter since the day Dean put a stop to it, declaring their childhood secrets – quiet handjobs under the covers, sneaky blowjobs in the dead of night, Sam buried as deep as he could get in his brother's heat – sick and wrong. He can still feel Dean under him, even though he hasn't been there in years. And no matter how often Dean pushes him away, every now and then he doesn't, and that's enough to give Sam hope. Dean might not touch him like that anymore, but he still watches. And he still wants just as much as Sam does.

And it all comes to a head when he least expects it. Honestly, when Sam let himself think about it, he'd thought they might explode in the middle of an argument. Maybe they'd end up fighting with grappling hands and needy mouths rather than sharp words and flying fists. Or maybe Sam would break and shout out all of his fantasies. Fantasies that can no longer be attributed to teenage hormones or childhood curiosity. But it doesn't happen like that at all. What does it, in the end, is nothing more than Dean's shoulders.

It shouldn't even be a thing. Sam sees Dean in various states of undress daily. He stitches Dean up. Rubs sore muscles. Treats random wounds all over Dean's body. Seeing Dean's shoulders shouldn't do that to him. But it does. In the same way seeing Dean's hands grip a glass or a gun sends a dirty thrill through him. Because he remembers.

He's clutched those shoulders. Came with that pretty pale flesh turning red under his nails. And there's the fact that Dean's put on so much muscle since then. But Sam's hands are much bigger, so maybe it would feel the same?

But Sam takes one look at his brother, sees the way the muscle ripples under his skin as he rolls the covers away and sits up in his bed – hair messy and face creased with pillow marks – and it's over. Time seems to slow down and he's left breathless with just how much he loves and needs his older brother. In ways he definitely shouldn't. But more pure than any love he's felt in his entire life. So maybe that makes it okay. Maybe the fact that they've sacrificed so much in their short lives means they get to have this. Sam doesn't know. Doesn't really care. But, either way, he's got to make Dean see that this is right for them. That they both need and want this too much to keep denying it.

So when Dean stands – legs tightening and thigh muscles pulled taut as he stretches – Sam sits up, positioning himself on the side of his bed. Dean doesn't even see it coming. He heads to the bathroom and ends up pinned on Sam's bed, all of Sam's considerable weight bearing down and holding him in place.

"The fuck?" Dean says, confused and maybe a little scared. But Sam doesn't give him time to think; he presses his morning erection into Dean's hip and catches those full, pink lips. Dean's morning breath – usually atrocious enough to have Sam cringing – doesn't even register because Dean is under him. Half naked. Hard. Delicious and arching toward him. And that talented, sinful mouth opens so willingly when Sam's tongue pushes against the seam of his lips.

Sam takes and takes and takes, his tongue mapping out Dean's mouth as his hands try to relearn his brother's body. So much bigger now. But smaller too. Because he fits into Sam now instead of the other way around. And it should make things awkward, trying to figure it out now that their sizes are reversed. But it's not at all. Sam sinks into Dean's body heat just like he always has, and Dean's hands cup Sam's face as gently as ever.

It is sheer bliss until Sam wrenches his mouth away and starts mouthing at Dean's neck. And then words are spilling out of his brother in a heated rush.

"Sorry, Sammy. So fucking sorry. Never should have touched you. It's my fault. You were so young. Screwed you up, baby boy. Sorrysorrysorry."

And Sam bites down, hard enough that Dean's words are cut off in a strangled gasp. He doesn't want to hear that shit. Can't hear it because it's not true. He's the sick one and if they are screwed up, it's Sam's fault because Dean has always been his universe. There's never been anything he wouldn't do for his big brother. And there's never been anything he didn't want from Dean. Even back then when he was too young to understand the gravity, the _depravity_ , of their actions, he still wanted. Needed Dean with a ferocity that was frightening and heady at the same time.

"Always wanted you, Dean," Sam whispers into his brother's sweaty neck, "Wanted you to touch me even before you did. Still want it so much it hurts. Please, Dean. Don't fight it anymore. Take what you want and don't apologize. Because I promise I want it even more than you do."

Dean takes a breath, probably to start his contrite and useless rambling again, but Sam slides a hand down his brother's body and palms his straining cock and Dean's hands light on his shoulders. His older brother releases the air from his lungs shakily as his nails dig in and his hips push upward.

"Yeah," Sam encourages, filthy and low, "Just like that, Dean. So hard for me. Want you in me, Dean. Finally. Fuck. I need it so much."

It's the only thing they've never even attempted, no matter how many times Sam asked for it. Dean would let Sam fuck him into the mattress even before Sam was even old enough to ejaculate properly. But he'd never return the favor. Too scared of hurting Sam. Scared of feeling like he was taking advantage of his little brother. But Sam's bigger now. Big enough to stop Dean if he wants – which he knows he won't – so there's no reason for Dean to be hesitant. No reason for him to say no. But he does anyway.

"Don't know what you're asking for, Sammy. Can't do that to you."

He doesn't say he doesn't want it though, so Sam takes a chance, "I'll just ride you then. Slick you up and sink down on your cock. Make you fuck me, Dean. That what you want? Don't wanna feel responsible for it? Want me to take the blame? Is that what you need, Dean?"

Dean whimpers, but his lips are sealed shut even as his cock jerks in Sam's hand, spurts out a bit of pre-come that quickly soaks into the fabric. And yeah. He's gonna do this. Hold Dean down and ride his dick for all he's worth. And maybe once it's over Dean will finally be convinced that Sam wants this too. Badly.

"Don’t fucking move," Sam leans up to purr in Dean's ear. He half expects Dean to bolt the second he stands, and contemplates just how difficult it'll be to get Dean pinned again. Not very hard he thinks, seeing just how much Dean's tenting his boxers. But to his surprise, Dean doesn't even twitch when Sam stands. He breathes hard and shallow, eyes tracking Sam's every movement, but he stays put. Waiting. Wanting. And Sam fucking dives for his duffle. Lube. But no condom. Doesn't want that barrier despite the risks.

Dean starts to fight a bit when Sam crawls up his body again, but it's all for show. Has to be, because Sam left him an opening only seconds before and Dean didn't take it. Sam doesn't think about what might have happened if he did, because honestly he's not sure he would have let Dean get away.

Sam easily traps Dean's hands above his head, and that's just further proof Dean isn't as put off by this as he'd like Sam to think. Because no matter how much height he's got on Dean, Sam can't really hold him if Dean doesn't want to be held.

But he lets the illusion of force stay firmly in place for now, grits out, "I'll tie you down if I have to, Dean," grip tightening briefly before he continues, "So what's it gonna be? Gonna stay still for me? Be a good boy? Or do I have to take it?"

Dean's eyes widen and a broken sound punches out of him, but he stops struggling and Sam hides his grin in Dean's chest as he releases his hold and pops the top on the lube.

He works himself open right there over his brother's trembling body. And he's not even sure of half the shit that falls out of his mouth.

"Want your fingers, Dean. Spreading me open. Fucking into me. Want you to hold me down and make me take it. Wanted it then. Used to fuck myself with whatever I could find pretending it was you. Hard and fast and so fucking dirty. Wrong but better because it was. It hurt every time you said no, Dean. Wanted you so much."

Dean's head is tilted up, eyes fastened on the ceiling, but every breath he takes stutters out of him on a groan and Sam can feel Dean's cock pressing into his thigh, hard and leaking. And maybe this isn't the way he's always imagined it, but it might be even better.

He slides his fingers out before he's sure he's ready, wanting the burn and deep ache he knows Dean can give him. His own dick throbs, bobbing up and down as he pushes Dean's boxers out of the way and slicks his brother's cock. God, so much bigger now, just like he'd thought. Steel covered in satiny smooth skin and Sam just wants it in him.

Dean moves when Sam positions himself over his hard shaft, but he doesn't pull away. His hands fall over Sam's thighs, white-knuckled as he grips the firm muscles. His eyes rest on Sam's face and there's another apology there.

_Forgive me for not being strong enough to stop this. Sorry I don't want to. Please forgive me._

But Sam ignores it and lowers himself with a growl. The head pops in and pain shoots up Sam's back, his stomach, down his legs. It's too much for a moment and he has to stop, force himself to breathe and relax. His eyes fall closed, squinting against the pain. And then Dean fights him in earnest, a litany of sorry and stop and don't wanna hurt you falling out even as Sam makes himself sink lower.

"'S good, Dean. So good," he says, because it is. Pain and all, it's perfect and he doesn't want to stop.

Dean gurgles, a sound Sam would find funny under any other circumstances, and then he's pushing up, filling Sam completely in one swift thrust. It's like every wall he's put up over the years crumbles and then he's fucking up into Sam with abandon. And it just gets better and better, the pain giving way to a sort of fullness that Sam's never been able to find before.

He doesn't realize until Dean's hand closes over his cock that he's gone soft. And honestly, he doesn't even care. It isn't about coming, not for Sam. This is about being as close to Dean as he can be. It's about showing Dean that this is okay. And even if it's wrong in the eyes of the world, they don't live by those rules. Never have. And Sam doesn't want to, not if it means he can't have this.

But Dean is determined and he works his hand over Sam's groin meticulously as his other slips around Sam's hip and down, to feel where they're connected. That's what does it for him, Dean's gentle tentative fingers feeling them out, contrasting drastically with the enthusiastic and relentless pumping of his hips. Sam goes hard so fast that it's almost painful, the rush of blood to his dick.

Dean inhales sharply when Sam clamps down on him, and Sam laughs, obscene even to his own ears. Dean seems to come back to himself then and the room tilts dangerously as Dean rolls them over. And fuck if this isn't so much better, because now Dean's pounding him, reservations and self-incriminations forgotten in the tight heat of Sam's body. Just like it should be, Sam thinks, as Dean's wrist twists and his cock hits that perfect spot and Sam comes over both of them.

"God yeah, Dean. Fuck. So good, baby. Just like that," it goes on forever, harder than Sam can ever remember coming, longer than he's ever managed before. And he's covered in it by the time he pulls in a burning lungful of air, slick and cooling quickly. Kinda gross, really.

But then Dean's hips speed up, snapping almost violently, and his fingers skim through the mess on Sam's stomach, rubbing it in a bit before bringing his hand up and prying Sam's lips open. He's got his own taste on his tongue and Dean's hand tangled in his hair – body dipping low and providing tortuously painful pleasure for Sam's over sensitive cock – when Dean freezes, thrusts twice more, and then buries himself as deeply as he can.

Dean's coming, pulsing and throbbing and Sam luxuriates in the feel of it, spits out praise around Dean's fingers and arches into it.

"Fuck yeah, Dean. Feel so good. So full of you. Needed it so much."

Dean collapses on top of him seconds later, body quivering with aftershocks and sliding in the come still pooled between them. And Sam can't help but to sob at how right it feels, finally having his brother like this. No lies between them. No denial. Just them. Like it was always supposed to be.

Dean wipes the tear that slides down the side of Sam's face with his thumb, lips still pressed to Sam's chest, kissing softly. And when Sam looks down at him, he's relieved to see that Dean isn't trying to hide anymore. He's gazing up at his brother with breathtaking intensity and devotion and so much love, everything laid out on his face for Sam to see.

Sam feels like he's breathing for the first time in years, and pulls his brother up for a slow, sweet kiss. It's not going to be easy. And Dean might still try to retreat, pull away, leave this behind them. But things are different now. Sam isn't going to go down without a fight. And he isn't going to give this up. So Dean will just have to deal.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my first rodeo. But my first published Wincest (or SPN fic at all, really). So yay for that. :) Comments AND constructive criticism welcome.


End file.
